… En el mundo, mundo primero,
You don’ wanna try to be no hero …
Ardy turns to the display in the window. Along with multiple copies of the same featured CD, there is a life-size standup cardboard representation of the singer. It is Mister Enrico. A sign says:
personal appearance
today only — noon
Mister E, lead singer for The Illegal Aliens
autographing his smash hit cassingle & cd
“El Mundo Primero”
The hours until noon drag by. Shortly before, a crowd starts to gather. Ardy is shoved willy-nilly away from the door. A large limo pulls up. The crowd swarms around it. Ardy strains on tiptoe to see who emerges. He catches only the glimpse of a man wearing an elegant fur coat. Then the man — presumably, Mister Enrico — is swept inside with the crowd.
Ardy waits outside. If there is one thing he has learned lately, it is patience.
People trickle in and out. An hour passes.
Two burly men emerge, and Ardy sizes them up as Mister Enrico’s bodyguards. He feels a slight chill, despite his bulky coat. He must speak to Mister Enrico! What he will say, he does not know. But is imperative that he at least make contact with this link to his past.
There is a commotion by the door. A glimpse of swirling fur … It is Mister Enrico indeed, sweeping out.…
“Mister Enrico, its me, Ardy! I have to talk to you—”
Ardy is instantly brought to the ground by the combined tackles of the bodyguards. People are shouting and yelling. Mister Enrico’s voice makes itself heard above all others.
“No, no, let him up, get the hell off him, man! Mister E has always got time for his fans, no matter how dirty stinking crazy they are. Yo, you all right, my man? Step over to the side here. Don’t mind these goons, man, they sometimes get carried away, Sony makes me use ’em.…”
Once Mister Enrico and Ardy are somewhat distant from the crowd, Mister Enrico lowers his voice and says, “You crazy sucker, man, it really is you! Jesus, man, I never thought I’d see you again. How you doin’, man? Not so hot, by the looks of it. Was that you in Boston, man, at the club, yellin’ something? Jesus, I was so stoned that night, I couldn’t even see straight.”
“It is I, Mister Enrico. I am glad to see that you are doing so well. You look remarkably placid and self-assured, without a trace of your former skiff-based skittishness. How I wish we could have proceeded together straight to this city, which was our initial destination! But I guess it was just not in our destinies for us to travel together beyond the border.”
“Yeah, well, man, I figured if we split up when those Johnson motherfuckers were chasin’ us, we’d have a better chance. Looks like I was right, hey, man? Like I told you, number one bad-ass smuggler! But I gave that all up, man, for a life in the entertainment industry.”
Ardy regards Mister Enrico quietly for a moment. He wants to ask about his three thousand dollars, but doesn’t quite know how. It would appear so, so — gauche.…
Mister Enrico seems to sense his unease, for he reaches into his pocket, fumbles for a few seconds, then brings up something, which he thrusts into Ardy’s hand, closing Ardy’s fingers around it.
“Hey, man, I gotta run now, big things going down today. But if you ever need anything, you just call me, hear? My secretary or Pee-Are guy will handle it. Autographed photos, free records, backstage passes, anything like that you want.”
MiSter Enrico shakes Ardy’s free hand while the bodyguards and a few bystanders watch with obvious puzzlement. Then the newly famous singer piles back into his limo, which roars off in a cloud of exhaust fumes.
Ardy looks at the object thrust upon him.
It is a twenty-dollar bill wrapped around a pasteboard rectangle.
Ardy reads the business card.
FEDERAL HILL BOOKING AGENCY
“Representing the stars of tomorrow todays!”
Mister E… The Scuzztones … Broken Promises …
A MONTAGIOIA ENTERPRISE
Ah well, at least he can quit early today.
13
Feature Condensation
It is a sunny, albeit bone-rattling windy day in March. Ardy Stands in the Grand Army Plaza, ready to importune the swells who leave either Bergdorf’s or the Plaza Hotel. The moldy change-purse in which he holds his coins is filling up rather rapidly today, and he suspects — has for the last several days actually feared — that this unwonted largesse is due to his disintegrating appearance. His lumpy jacket laced with hairy twine, his fingerless gloves rancid from digging through dumpsters, his scraggly face — Ardy has had little time for sartorial concerns, in the daily scrabble to stay alive.
Still, he does not wish to appear ungrateful. Every day he enjoys the sun and the clouds, a relatively safe place to sleep, and the friendship of Mister Mountjoy. His life on the Spice Island could have been summed up in nearly the same terms, and surely he was happy there. And in addition now, he has the fascinating people and institutions of The First World laid out before him each day, the instruments of his edification.
To think that in a mere five months he has seen and done so much. That callow youth, poorly but cleanly attired, who crossed the border amidst a hornet swarm of bullets, would surely fail to recognize the vile gutter dweller he has become, had the mystery of time permitted them to meet face to face. Yet does not the same soul, considerably enlightened, shine beneath …?
Yes, life is good. Puzzling, but good.
Standing in the midst of the surging foot-traffic, Ardy feels hungry. This is not a new sensation. Mostly, he is always hungry. Today, though, as if new life thrills in his veins, he is exceptionally famished. It must be the hint of spring in the air.…
He decides to splurge on a hotdog from a nearby cart. (Todays UMDPAFLL lunch menu is half-portions of veal cordon bleu topped with the agglomerated contents of discarded Chicken McNuggets sauce-tubs.) After all, Ardy has saved seventy-five cents by skipping yesterdays permitted coffee. With today’s ration added to that sum, he should just be able to purchase a frank.
“Hello, Mister Pedlar — one of your juiciest dogs, please.”
“Yeah, sure, wise guy, let’s see your money first.”
Ardy hands over six quarters, and the vendor reluctantly prepares a limp skinny hotdog in a soggy bun.
“Do you know, sir, that when Franklin Delano Roosevelt entertained the King of England, he served him hotdogs?”
“Yeah, yeah, g’wan, get the fuck outa here, you’re bad for business.”
“One moment, sir, I wish to use the condiments.”
Ardy slathers his hotdog with mustard, ketchup, and relish. Then he picks up a dented, much-handled shaker with brown-rimmed holes and sprinkles nutmeg on top.
Chomping on the hotdog, Ardy idly watches the crowd, habit keeping him at least half on the alert for marks.
A woman wearing a full fur coat exits Bergdorf’s. Her hair is a radiant black, her chin sharp, her irises — are they green? Is it — ? Could it be — ? Do his eyes deceive him — ?
It is indeed Roseanna Mountjoy, laden with packages, hailing a cab.
Ardy nearly chokes on the tail of his hotdog. Ignoring cars, he rushes across the street and up to Roseanna.
As one might expect, Roseanna seems rather taken aback by the apparition of this dirty, scurvy savage. She backs up against the wall of the store, clearly filling her lungs for a titanic scream.
How Ardy wishes he wore his Poo-Chee-chewed professional motorist’s hat which he could sweep off in deference to her gracious beauty. But as he does not, he merely places a hand over his heart and declaims, “Missus Mountjoy, it is I, your former chauffeur.”
“Ardy — ? Ardy, is it really you?”
“Yes, Roseanna, your ardent Ardy, come down in estate a bit, but still with the same spirit burning inside.”
Roseanna steps away from the wall, resuming her dignity. She looks around nervously, as if alert for the possibility of someone she knows b
earing witness to this unseemly colloquy. Self-possession is closing around her like the shrink-wrapping on one of Mister Enrico’s CDs, an almost visible process.
“Well, this is a surprise. I must say, you didn’t give me much notice of your departure.”
“It was rather precipitous, Missus Mountjoy, but if you’ve followed the news at all, I think you’ll understand why.”
Roseanna sighs. “Yes, I figured it all out. I never should have let you and Roy become friends. He’s much too dominant a personality.”
“Like mother, like son, Roseanna. And I intend that as a compliment to your own forceful charm.”
“Well, this has been — interesting, but I’m afraid I’m late for an appointment, and must be going.…”
“Roseanna, please don’t leave! What have I been thinking of …? I have news of your husband.”
“Roger …?”
“None other. He resides in this very city, and has been searching in his lovelorn way for you for months. Please, I beg you, wait here while I fetch him.…”
“I don’t know, what we shared was so long ago.…”
“Roseanna, stay put!”
Ardy rushes off.
By now, he knows all the stations which Mister Mountjoy circulates among, and by visiting each and inquiring of his fellow bums, he should soon catch up with the man.
Not far south, in front of Carnegie Hall, Ardy finds Mister Mountjoy and quickly informs him of what has transpired.
Mister Mountjoy puts a hand to his forehead and appears faint. “Hardy, I’m not sure I’m ready.…”
“You must come, Mister Mountjoy. This is your last chance to pull free of this seductive muck. You cannot give in to nostalgie de la boue now.”
“Okay, I guess you’re right.… She’ll probably be gone anyway.… How do I look?”
“Under the circumstances, as good as can be expected. Now, please hurry!”
Returning to the Plaza, they find Roseanna just stepping into a cab.
“Roseanna, wait!” shouts Ardy, draping himself over the hood of the cab in a last-ditch attempt to stop her departure. The cab driver jumps out and begins to peel Ardy off the car, but Ardy, clinging to the windshield wipers, resists mightily.
“C’mon, buddy, give up, I don’t need my windshield washed and ain’t givin’ you no handout. C’mon, you fuckin’ asshole, let go! Jesus, you bums get more daring every day.…”
Meanwhile Roseanna has turned to confront her husband. Ardy listens intently to their reunion.
“Roger, you look simply ghastly.”
“I know, Rosie, I know. It seems I’m always disappointing you. First, I allowed myself to be caught embezzling —”
“But you did manage to hide the profits, Roger. I’ll always be grateful for that.”
“Thank you, Rosie, that’s very kind of you, but you needn’t spare my feelings. And then, I know that you never entirely approved of my associating with all those Mediterranean types in Providence, But at the time I had no other recourse.”
“I know that, Roger. And you always sent generous checks along.…”
“Well, what I’m trying to say, Rosie, is … I’ve been giving a lot of thought to my future, and I believe that with what I’ve learned, both in the Mob and with General Spencer — I’ll tell you all about him later — I think I would be a valuable asset to many Wall Street firms. But I’ve hesitated to apply myself, since without you, life seemed so empty. Will you have me back, Rosie, as your husband?”
“Of course I will, Roger. I’ve missed you terribly.”
When Ardy hears this, he lets go of the wipers, which snap back loudly.
The cabbie dumps him unceremoniously on the sidewalk.
“Hey, lady, you want this cab or what?”
“Just hold on a minute. Can’t you see this is important?”
“Lady, I ain’t gettin’ paid to hang around and wrestle crazy bums. Getcha self another cab.”
The cab roars off, narrowly missing Ardy’s feet, which extend out into the street.
Ardy stands and faces the reunited Mountjoys.
“Allow me to be the first to offer my congratulations on the renewal of your troth, Mister and Missus Mountjoy. It is a heartwarming sight. All that would be necessary to complete the family tableau would be the arrival of Roy and Dawn.…”
“No chance of that, I’m afraid. Roger, did you know that Roy’s construction company has landed the contract to demolish the contaminated parts of Boston ?”
“That’s my son!”
“Yes, and he’s bought Dawn a mall with the profits. The last time I saw them, they were both quite ecstatic.”
Ardy finds himself interrupting, although he did not intend to.
“I don’t suppose your new expanded household would require the services of a licenseless chauffeur…?”
“Sorry, Ardy, but after you and Roy destroyed the Jag, I never bought another, and I’ve found it’s just as easy in this town to use cabs.”
“I suspected as much.… Well, shake hands with me, Mister Mountjoy, and I’ll be saying farewell.”
“Hardy, I don’t know what to say.… Rosie, do you have any cash for this lad?”
“Let me look … No, just credit cards, I’m afraid.”
“Goshdamn! Look, Hardy, I hate to leave you in the lurch like this, but just hang in there, and as soon as I’m back on my feet, I’ll see about getting you a job of some sort.…”
“That’s all right, Mister Mountjoy, I never expected anything out of this for myself.”
“Well, so long, Hardy.”
“Ardy, thank you so much for your part in helping Roger and I get back together. You may give me a peck on the cheek, but for God’s sake, don’t get anything on this fur.… Goodbye, Ardy.…”
Ardy watches Roseanna and her husband enter a newly hailed cab and disappear into the traffic on Fifth. He kicks idly at a small mound of rotten snow that looks like melted grey plastic, realizing he has failed even to get Roseanna’s address.… Ah, well.…
Ardy takes a few steps away, in no particular direction. His gaze falls on a New York Post vending machine. The screaming headline reads:
RADICAL PRIEST & FARM GIRL COMRADE IN JAILHOUSE WEDDING!
As if poleaxed, Ardy falls to his knees to read the text visible through the window. It’s just what the headline says. Father Jim and Kirsten have married while awaiting trial. Father Jim is quoted as saying, “The Lord moves in inscrutable ways, his miracles to perform.”
Kneeling before the box, Ardy feels totally disoriented. In the space of a few minutes, he has somehow lost his tenuous hold on all three of the women in his life. It does leave one feeling rather empty.… What more could possibly happen?
Ardy looks lower on the front page. A box proclaims: SPICE ISLAND NEWS — PAGE 3.
Ardy’s hand dives deep into his pocket for his change purse. What news could it be? He must find out —
“What’s going on here, fella? You sick?”
Ardy looks up into the face of one of New York’s Finest. The cop’s hand is resting on his nightstick, as if expecting trouble. For all Ardy knows, the gendarme might very well have been briefed that morning on the necessity of closing the books on the old Montpelier / Boston / Providence terrorist case.…
“Hello, officer, I was just trying to find some change I dropped.…”
“Just forget breaking into the coin-box, buddy, I got my eyes on you.”
“Yes sir, in no way did I wish to offer offense, I’ll just be stepping along now, sir, if you have no objection.…”
Ardy walks hastily away, the cop watching his retreat.
Somehow, what with resuming his begging duties, Ardy never gets to purchase a copy of the Post that day, or any day thereafter. Truth to tell, he is somewhat disheartened by losing the companionship of Mister Mountjoy, and is not sure he wants to read any nostalgia-producing news about his home island.
In the weeks following Mister Mountjoy s departure, Ardy i
s kept increasingly busy by heightened demands on his begging prowess. General Spencer has upped his demands on the solicitation squad, as if his plans require a new infusion of cash. Ardy is run ragged from sunrise to sunset.
At night, lying on his poor pallet before he falls into a sleep of exhaustion, Ardy wonders fitfully what is in store for him. Each night General Spencer’s tent is lit up like a caravansary, as he sits with his Ministers discussing Lord knows what. There is a feeling of big doings afoot, dark schemes, deep plots, disastrous explosions.
Before plunging into the well of sleep each night, Ardy resolves anew to be ready to move fast.
April arrives.
One Saturday evening early in the month, all the scruffy members of UMDPAFLL are standing or lying on the Sixty-third Street underground platform when Mister Simon emerges from General Spencer’s tent.
“Guys and gals, may I request youse all listen up! General Spencer has got somethin’ to say.”
An uneasy current stirs among the bums as the apocalyptic figure of General Spencer emerges from the tent and climbs up on an improvised platform of crates and planks.
“Loyal soldiers of Humpty-Fall, your attention, please! I wish to inform you all that the moment we have long waited for is at hand. Tomorrow, with dawn’s early light, we make our move. The world will be forced to recognize our might and the justice of our cause. Tonight, your various squad leaders will drill you in the part each of you is to play. Rest assured that Humpty-Fall asks no more from each of you than he or she can supply. With a little luck, and God on our side, we shall emerge from tomorrows battle victorious, with all our righteous demands met, and a minimum of fatalities. I thank you now for allowing me to lead you to a new heavenly kingdom on earth. Until tomorrow, the day of reckoning, farewell! Oh, by the way, guards have been posted at all exits to insure that no outsider gets in at this crucial juncture.”
And so no one gets out, thinks Ardy ruefully.
Mister Simon comes up to Ardy when the General has disappeared back into his tent.
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